


if i were a bell (i’d be ringing)

by solhoney



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Mark Lee is oblivious, Tropes, drama club au because mark is troy bolton, featuring other various 99-00 liners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solhoney/pseuds/solhoney
Summary: Mark Lee was stupid for assuming his last show would be like the first, or the second, or all the ones after that.(or: Mark's leaving for college and it's really not his college applications and decisions that are making him so antsy about SMHS's production of Guys and Dolls, their last show with him as stage manager).





	if i were a bell (i’d be ringing)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i dont kno shit abt korean school systems and this is entirely too based on my experiences. im like fully grown and this is something that has probably been written before but i wanted to project my rigor mortis drama club feelings onto the boys that’ve been on my mind a whole lot lately… 
> 
> \+ this was sitting in my google docs for like... months and i just picked it up today in a flurry to write so if it seems scattered... that's why. un-beta'd and everything

Mark Lee is stupid.

Or at least, that’s what Donghyuck thinks. And not for the usual reasons—when Mark is actually being stupid—but because he keeps coming back. Back to theatre, just to  _ not be appreciated by everyone in this hell club, god _ . (Donghyuck’s words, not his. The first time Yerim offered up a flask of some kind of brown liquor to the underclassmen at one of the cast parties, she had been delighted—along with the rest of the club excluding Mark—to find out Donghyuck was somehow more affectionate and emotionally volatile while intoxicated. He went on a 20 minute rant about how Mark could do great things if he just left drama club and then cried and wouldn’t let go of him.)

Mark could probably claim he never wanted to join anyway, and pretty much everyone would believe him. 

But he was there for the first crew meeting his freshman year, and then for every crew meeting onward. (He maintains Ten has hypnotic abilities and he’s just been in a trance that’s reaching its expiration date.)

Looking out across the familiar landscape now, the sagging auditorium and the people inhabiting it, he staves off the nostalgia pulling in his chest. Nothing has changed, and nothing really will – he’s convinced himself as much. So, Law of Attraction.  

Except now, he’s standing where the people he used to admire would stand, huddled with the director and his assistant stage managers. Because  _ he’s _ the head stage manager. The head honcho. The big guy in charge.

And Donghyuck is on stage, doing everything in his power to distract him from this  _ highly important _ huddle.

Joohyun, an alumni who volunteered her time not spent getting her fucking masters to direct the shows she once starred in, is saying something to Mark and he can hear her voice, quiet but clear as a bell to his left, but Donghyuck is drawing on war paint with the white they’re using to coat the back wall and he wants nothing more than to walk up there and tell him to beh–

“Mark?” 

He startles. Noticeably. Joohyun is looking at him, a bit incredulous, in that way she does like she’s trying to tell you she  _ expects better _ . Jeno and Suhyun, and Jisung, the freshman they’re training to fill the missing spaces next year, are already taking glances where his sights had been set just a few seconds prior. 

Jeno is smirking. It grates on Mark’s nerves.

“Can we focus in, please?” Joohyun asks, clapping a hand on his shoulder like she’s a soccer coach. “A few more minutes and you can go back to your usually scheduled babysitting.”

It’s Mark’s turn to look incredulous. “I don’t–”

“A few more minutes,” She says, holding up two fingers to indicate squeezing the time into the space, into his attention span. They end up deep in discussion for 20 more minutes until there’s a loud crash of something hitting the ground from the stage. 

Donghyuck and Yerim are bolting upstage and launching themselves up the aisles of the auditorium and Chaeyoung is chasing them, abandoning the mess they’ve just made. 

It takes a moment for the chaos to register and then he’s standing up, sighing, and catching Chaeyoung, in all her tiny fury, before she can seriously injure either culprit. 

***

Rehearsals—this early on in the production especially—are mostly painstaking, so pushing open the doors and stepping out into the parking lot is the most refreshing part of Mark’s day. 

It doesn’t really matter that it’s still winter and windblown snow flurries smack them in the face the moment they exit, it still feels like relief to Mark – there’s little to no air circulation in the auditorium so it always feels like 1,000 degrees or  _ like you’re sitting in Satan’s asscrack _ . (This time, Yerim’s words and not his, though he’s inclined to agree.) 

He looks over at Donghyuck, who is crying out  _ loudly _ , in protest of the general concept of weather. If not for the giant coat he was pulling on, Mark could place him on a beach in Florida somewhere. His skin is warm like honey, even though the sun is hibernating. Summer is so stuck in his teeth and hair that it rolls off him in waves. 

He’s an oasis. 

They clamber into the car and despite the fact that the walk had been less than 40 feet, Donghyuck immediately demands heat. So Mark cranks it up. 

They’re settled in, mostly, when Mark sees Donghyuck grab for the contents of his cup holder. “What are these?” 

_ They’re early admissions letters _ , he would answer, but Donghyuck’s face sinks. “Ew,” He says, and slowly puts them back. 

“ _ Ew _ ?” Mark repeats, inquisitive. 

Donghyuck looks at him and makes a face, mocking. “Just  _ ew _ . It reminded me that I have to take the SAT soon.” Mark nods, smug, and Donghyuck notices. “It has absolutely nothing to do with you moving hundreds of miles away to go to college. I’ll have you know, Mark Lee, that I am  _ counting down _ the days ‘til that happens.” 

“Mhm,” He hums. He’s used to this. Donghyuck tells Mark he hates him just as much as he tells him he loves him, but he knows what to believe.

“It’s the truth!” The younger exclaims. “If anything, I’m just worried I’ll have to arrange another carpool.” 

“I knew you only liked me because of my car.” 

“You’ve got me all figured out.”

He finally moves to pull out of the parking lot and in the direction of Donghyuck’s house, and he’s momentarily distracted by the task of driving with care, considering the snow that had built up while they were in the school. 

His peripheral is burning, though, because Donghyuck has picked up the letters again and there’s a look on his face that Mark can’t place. 

It looks wistful, proud maybe, but his lips are pursed so it could very well be anger. 

“Just don’t think about it,” Mark says, eventually, effectively replacing the undecipherable expression with one of confusion. 

“What?” Donghyuck asks. His eyelashes are fluttering, Mark can see as much in the dark. 

“Just don’t think about me graduating,” He explains, doesn’t wait for Donghyuck to claim he couldn’t care  _ less _ about him leaving before continuing. “About any of us graduating. I’m pretty sure I do enough of that for the both of us.” 

The younger mulls this over. He looks out at the dim streetlights and the dirtied, slush pushed against the curbs, and Mark thinks for a moment that the conversation is over. 

But then, there’s a smile. He can feel it in the car before he hears it in Donghyuck’s voice. “You think about leaving poor ole me behind a lot?” Mark laughs through his nose, shaking his head and turning onto Donghyuck’s street. “That’s why you’ve looked so tired lately, huh. You’re losing sleep because you’re trying to imagine life without me.”

There’s a tug in Mark’s stomach, and he swallows his ‘actually, yeah’. He had never thought about that at  _ all _ .

Just the thought of life without Donghyuck fills him with dread, lead in his veins. 

“Sure, Hyuck,” He says, finally, managing to train his voice into stability, pulling up in front of Donghyuck’s house. 

There’s a beat of silence where they both sit, waiting for the other to say something, to tip the scale. Instead, they both just sit. Eventually, Donghyuck bundles up and hops out, waving goodbye all the way up to his front door. He keeps waving even as he unlocks it.

It’s only after Donghyuck has closed and locked his door, and appeared in the living room window to wave just a little more, that Mark pulls away.

***

SMHS’s drama club is absolutely broke. The school’s budget has made sure of this. 

Mark has known as much forever, even before he walked into the auditorium for the first time and the stage was sinking in on itself and the giant lights hanging from the ceiling were rusted two times over. 

This is thanks to Seulgi—family friend, across-the-street-neighbor, the easiest first crush ever—spent her high school years complaining about how “the last time the school put money into the auditorium was when it was built.” 

(She still complains. She choreographs for their shows.)

She’s right, after all.

But somehow, they manage to put on good shows. Some are better than others, but they’ve been delivering for quite a while. Everyone thought things were gonna fall apart in Mark’s freshman year when Sooyoung and Ten—their almost permanent male and female leads—graduated, but then Donghyuck materialized the next year and he’s, of course, perpetually dazzling. Joohyun had just started directing the year prior and even she had bought into the talk about their productions falling apart without the previously reigning dynamic duo, and she cites Donghyuck’s very first audition as a  _ ray of hope _ . 

It makes him glow, iridescent from the inside out, whenever its brought up. 

Mark doesn’t really care about being a ray of hope or leaving a legacy behind. He just wants to get each show done as it comes, which he does. Not without spreading himself so thin that he needs to sleep for 48 straight hours to recover, but he does it all the same. Every time.

Working with the crew heads is a part of this (they’d all disintegrate without him, he’s convinced.) He always stays after with Lucas to put together set pieces. Chaeyoung always has him painting base coats. When Saeron gets tired of  _ holding this club together, dammit _ , he fixes broken props. 

That’s how Donghyuck finds him during a break: hunched over a hot glue gun and a disconnected suitcase handle in the otherwise empty scene shop.

“Do you think I overact?”

Mark looks up and over at the younger boy, and sets down what he’s working on. “Isn’t that the whole point of stage acting?”

Donghyuck looks dissatisfied with that answer. His thoughts are so loud, everyone else can probably hear them on stage. “But you know, is it ever  _ too _ much?” He’s shifting, uncomfortable. 

“Is there a reason you’re asking me this and not the 30 actors sitting in the auditorium right now?” 

There’s an answer different from the one that comes from his mouth on his face. “No, but you’re the stage manager. You watch each performance a lot closer than everyone else.”

(Mark’s heard from enough people that Donghyuck needs his approval to know that that is probably what’s happening. Jeno always points out how Hyuck races to him after every show when the curtain falls. Seulgi bristles whenever the younger seems more satisfied with Mark’s stamp of approval than hers. Yerim tells her she better just get used to it. 

Mark mostly denies it because:  _ no, Hyuck definitely doesn’t need anyone’s approval, let alone mine _ . In moments like this, though, he falters. The year age difference between them stretches on for miles.)

“I don’t think you overact,” Mark says, and he’s not lying. “You’re  _ loud _ , but that’s why Mina and the rest of sound crew have taken up residence in your ass.” 

Donghyuck snuffles, eyes glossy, like a kid whose just finished having a fit. There’s a sinkhole in Mark’s stomach and he’s falling, falling, falling...

There’s an inkling of embarrassment and a pink flush washing over the actor’s face. “Nancy kept complaining that my voice hurts her ears.” 

“All  _ this _ because of  _ Nancy _ ?” Mark gestures vaguely to Donghyuck positively sulking, and he can’t help but laugh, fond. “You’re getting soft.”

“Am not.”

“Are too,” Mark retorts, an instinct. There’s a moment where Donghyuck looks like he’s about to barrel forward and continue the back and forth, an  _ AM NOT! _ on the tip of his tongue. So Mark says, “Go back to rehearsal. I have like, six more suitcases to fix.”

“Fine.” Donghyuck sighs with his entire body and the air around them lightens. “Don’t burn yourself with the glue gun again.”

“That was one time!”

***

Admittedly, Mark knew very little about theatre when he joined drama club. 

He still doesn’t really know much, because he’s never figured out  _ where _ the others have picked up the intel they have.

He  _ does _ , however, know that theatre people are superstitious to the point of hilarity. And because it’s contagious, he is too, now. 

(His freshman year, a girl on stage crew said  _ Macbeth _ in the middle of their Saturday show, and then three of the chorus girls threw up in prop garbage cans and Ten twisted his ankle. Someone, of course, ratted the girl out, and Sooyoung swept in like a hurricane. The girl cried, and then quit drama club before the curtain fell. So yeah, Mark believes in the absurdities. At least a little.)

Their own club has its superstitions, too. Those are a bit  _ too _ absurd for him.

For example, the ghost that haunts the auditorium and drops sandbags on people—though that hasn’t happened since the 70s. Yerim, carrier pigeon for nonsense, says, “Yeah, and why do you think that is,  _ Mark _ ?”

Read: They cleanse the entire stage, backstage, the classrooms that double as dressing and makeup rooms, and scene shop with sage a month before the show. 

Everything smells like, well,  _ sage _ when he finally gets to the auditorium. 

His counselor, a bumbling mess of a guy, was trying to “help” him with his college decisions. 

His mom made the appointment, so he went. Not that it helped. His brain is deadlocked. There are acceptance letters clogging his sinuses. He’s up to his eyes in them.

“Earth to Mark Lee.”

He turns on Yerim, with Donghyuck and Saeron in tow. They’re all looking at him, wide eyed, so he snaps out of it—whatever  _ it _ was—and sets his backpack down on one of the seats at the front of the house. 

“Do you need something?” 

“Just–” Yerim’s eyes flick to her second and third heads. “Do you know when Joohyun’s gonna be here? Jaemin said we still have to get a couple of Donghyuck’s costumes approved.” 

“I can do it.” He sounds way too eager to his own ears, so theirs must be burning.

“Really? You’re sure it’s okay?” It’s Donghyuck asking, now.

Yerim is looking at him like he has a second nose and Mark doesn’t want to answer the question because she’s looking at him like that, like she knows more than him, more than everyone. “Yeah, I mean, it’s just a bunch of three piece suits. All she does is, like, make sure they fit you and fit with the other costumes in the scene.” 

Donghyuck nods. “Yeah, but doesn’t she have a vision for the show?”

“I can text her and ask when she’ll be here, if you think it’s that important.”

“No!” Donghyuck squeaks and then realizes he’s squeaked and goes cross eyed looking down at his own mouth as if to reprimand it, and there’s a moment where Mark forgets about Saeron and Yerim and her third eye and he smiles, so wide his face scrunches up. “No, just – just wait. I’ll go put them on.”

He’s gone, tearing a hole in the air and walking through it, leaving him alone with Yerim’s supernatural perceptive abilities and her henchwoman. 

“You’re acting weird.” 

“Yeah, well, not everyone has Juilliard begging on their doorstep for scraps.” He’s barely exaggerating for effect – the school’s been trying to drive their claws into Yerim since junior year. 

“Saeron, can I talk to him for a hot sec?” Saeron’s gone in an instant and in the next, he’s left without witnesses. “ _ This _ is about college stuff?”

Mark’s brows furrow. “What else would it be about?” 

He’s stumped her. She looks dumbfounded for a long beat, and then she’s nodding. “No, you’re right…” 

The trailing is a bad sign. 

“You’re sure it has nothing to do with  _ anything else _ , though?” She asks, and he can’t decipher whatever code she’s speaking in. “Any _ one _ else?” 

Code cracked. “Yerim, don’t.” 

She holds her hands up in surrender. “Fine! I just have a very active imagination and vivid hallucinations! It’s fine!” He doesn’t humor her, because that’s their whole  _ thing _ . Since they were kids, Yerim was obnoxious and he tolerated it. It’s the perfect arrangement. “Speak of the devil.”

He turns and Donghyuck is standing on the stage, a vision in a blue pinstripe suit. Mark’s guard falls and he can hear Yerim laughing as she retreats from his side into the shadows, or wherever she goes to brews her potions.

***

Mark was foolish for assuming his last show would be like the first, or the second, or all the ones after that.

He walks into the scene shop looking for  _ screws that aren’t 60 billion years old and used 10 times over, please _ , as per Lucas’s request, and finds Donghyuck, crying, holding onto Yerim like she’s a lifeboat. He’s drowning in his own tears.

Tech week is only a few days away, and if this is how Donghyuck is  _ now _ , Mark’s not sure he’s gonna survive until opening night.

(The younger was totally inconsolable during Jaehyun’s last show. It was absolutely pitiful, and loud, and slobbery. All Jaehyun could do was hug him through it and make sure his brain didn’t leak out with the tears. He told Donghyuck he’d see him in the hallways and at lunch for one more month and the younger, anguished, yelled ‘ _ it’s not the same _ ’ into his chest. 

And it’s not. It’s not the same. Drama club’s a wormhole—a warm, familial wormhole—after all.)

“Hyuck, look who it is.” Yerim rubs his arm, encouraging him to look up but as soon as he locks eyes on Mark, he crumbles even more. 

She looks up at Mark, too, and just shakes her head, says with her eyes: Inconsolable; Jaehyun all over again, but crank up the volume. 

Mark forgets why he had entered the room in the first place for a moment, almost walking forward and scooping his younger friend up, but then the Lucas that exists in his subconscious starts  _ yelling _ and he snaps out of it. He scrambles to find the box of screws he knows are lying around. “Yerim, give these to Lucas,” He says, holding them out to her.

“But –”

“I’ve got this.”  _ I’ve got him _ . “Please.”

So she listens to him, because there is a time for them to be at odds with each other and then there are moments like these, where one of the people they mutually care about more than their own selves needs something. 

Mark fills the space she’s left but Donghyuck doesn’t immediately grab hold of him and he tries not to let it hurt his feelings. “What’s going on with you, man?” He asks, not unkindly. 

“I’m just.” The younger pauses, sniffles and swipes at his cheeks to try to rid himself of some of the tears, and then speaks, voice faint, “I just got overwhelmed, is all. There’s a lot going on right now.”

“I get that,” Mark says, because he does. He really does. He reaches a hesitant hand out to rub comforting circles against Donghyuck’s back, eyes locked on where the other’s lips are wobbling. “But crying in front of Yerim? It’s risky, Hyuck. You know the blackmailing abilities she has.” 

The clouds part, and his wobbling lips part to reveal a smile. A slight giggle. 

(It’s like that saying:  _ Someone laughing after they’ve just finished crying is the human equivalent of a rainbow. _ But Mark would probably let someone read from one of his middle school journals over the loudspeaker during lunch than admit to anyone that he thinks in such corny, dramatic terms about Donghyuck. 

There are so few people with friendships like theirs, so nobody would understand.)

“Yerim would never blackmail me,” Donghyuck says, giggles some more. “She likes me too much.”

“See, that’s what I thought.” 

“Then she told the entire club about your crush on Seulgi,” Donghyuck finishes for him, and Mark shakes his head at the memory. He’s been trying to think of something embarrassing from their shared time as elementary and middle schoolers that he could hold against her, but he’s pretty sure she’s been perfect since birth. “But she likes me way more than you. Her words. And we have a blood oath.”

“I believe that.” But then he pauses, a buffering symbol floating in front of his face, and Donghyuck sounds so gleefully amused when he laughs, finally, full out. “You have a  _ blood oath _ ?!” 

The younger nods and smiles, so wide Mark’s barely breathing, and he can’t help but smile back. 

He’s almost firmly distracted, floating into Donghyuck’s orbit away from his own body, but then:

“What’s the blood oath even  _ about _ , Hyuck?!”

“Wouldn’t you like to know…”

***

They’re only halfway through the show but the first tech rehearsal has been going on for a solid 4 hours. 

The set’s still missing pieces, and Chaeyoung is painting the pieces that are there, shamelessly, while the cast lags through the script. 

(They were all supposed to be off book by last week, Mark and Joohyun’s orders, but the only lead who seems to have a handle on all of their lines is Renjun. Yerim and Nancy have  _ at least _ one rough patch in each of their scenes. Donghyuck keeps calling line and then shooting apologetic looks out past the seats, past the lights, to Mark in the back of the auditorium. 

Which means he keeps breaking character. It’s probably very annoying for everyone else.) 

Earlier in the day, he had successfully convinced his mom to drop off McDonalds for him instead of forcing him to eat whatever lukewarm food the self-titled  _ drama mamas _ have prepared for them. He wonders why she brings him such a bulging bag of food until Donghyuck and Yerim sidle up on either side of him in the hallway where he’s eating, asking for ‘one fry for my first born’ (Yerim) and ‘a nugget for my heart and liver’ (Hyuck). He gave them the extra food that his mom had bought, told them to save their organs and children.

When he was an assistant stage manager and his post was stage left, the duo would sit around his chair and distract him from doing his job during rehearsals. But now he’s alone, secluded in the back with Joohyun (and Seulgi, who’s taken to picking up the slack of distracting him.) 

He doesn’t realize he misses that until it’s 9:30 PM and Nancy sails through an entire song under pitch, and all he can do is turn to Seulgi, who reads his mind—because she can do that—and laughs, shakes her head.

He thinks it’s far too hot in the auditorium because he can practically  _ hear _ Yerim hissing about it. He looks around, thinks he’s hallucinating, until he remembers he has a headset on. 

It’s coming from Jeno’s feed, because he can also hear his friend’s familiar stifled laughter and then there’s shifting and Mark hears, “Hello stage managers and Mina and – Joohyun doesn’t have a headset, right?”

“Hyuck, give Jeno the set.” Mark can hear the near silent giggles on the other end.

“Sorry, please identify yourselves with your stage managing team codenames and use proper walkie talkie terminology for ease of access. This has been Full Sun. Over.”

“We don’t have stage managing codenames, and you know it’s me.”

“This is Full Sun. I can hear you loud and clear, Annoying Stickler for the Rules. How’re you faring out there with Seulgi sitting so close? Over.”

He could see him? Panic darts through him at the idea of Donghyuck looking out at him while he’s performing. He usually sits with his chin in his hands while the younger is singing. There’s a High School Musical 3 reference whirring in his brain –  _ don’t panic… Panic! _

“Why do you ask?” Panic transforms a man, and this is something Mark knows to be true. He’s been panicked for the majority of his life. “Jealous?”

Jisung, Suhyun and Mina both coo over the static. 

Mark has half the mind to train his eyes on the awkward lull on stage and then to the script where the words  _ NATHAN enters… _ are written. 

“It’s your cue, Hyuck.” Then there’s scrambling, more laughter, and said  _ NATHAN _ enters from stage right, luckily with the right first line sitting on his tongue. 

Seulgi snickers, from next to Mark. He pulls the headset to sit on his shoulders. 

(He almost forgot she was there.)

“What?” He asks, laughing with her, for some reason. 

She looks at him—not like she usually does and has since Yerim and him were kids jetting around their street on tricycles, with older-sister-reverence—but like she’s looking at a portrait of his face and not actually his face, like she’s in a museum, analytical. Then she glances back to the stage, where Donghyuck is  _ actually _ getting his lines right and looks at him like he’s a painting, too. “Hyuck… and you. And how you think it’s not happening.”

“So many people have said that.” So it doesn’t make sense that his skin bunches up around his heart whenever anyone notices and points it out, not really. “I feel like nobody but me has ever had a friend before.”

“Right.” She’s nodding. Seulgi’s had some kind of dirt on him for years now. He wishes he knew what it was. “So  _ you and Yerim _ is the same as  _ you and Donghyuck _ ?”

“I mean… essentially.” Yeah, he tells himself, over and over again. It’s the same thing, because if it isn’t, he’s in big trouble. 

“If you say so. But don’t tell Yerim that,” Seulgi says. “She’ll file a restraining order.”

Mark tells her to zip it and pulls the headset back on. Mina’s voice fills his ears with:  _ If I spill my Big Gulp all over the sound board and get electrocuted and die, they’ll have to buy us a new one, right? _

Jeno sighs and says, “No, then they’ll shut down the club and you’ll be dead. Please do not pour your Big Gulp on the sound board.” 

***

Mark can remember, vividly, the first time he met Donghyuck. 

It’s not vague, like with Yerim where he remembers sitting in a sandbox alone and then not being alone, or with Seulgi, who had known him since before he could comprehend people in a way that wasn’t  _ person who gives me food _ and  _ person who does not give me food _ . 

With Donghyuck, it’s a clear, persistent memory.

He was sitting in the hallway adjacent to the auditorium, doing homework and waiting for Joohyun to unlock the scene shop doors so he could work on set pieces (even if Lucas was nowhere to be found), and then he heard singing from the classroom next to him.

It’s not like it was rare for people to sing in said classroom, as it was the choir room, but it caught him off guard. And it was fucking  _ good _ .

So he waited for said singer to exit the classroom and it took eons, eons of Mark listening to the lyrical, tenor voice, eons of staring hopelessly at an equation he’d long since forgot how to do. But then Donghyuck stepped out, soft cheeks and all.

“Hey,” He said, which startled the younger boy, reasonably. “You sound good.”

The other boy beamed, “Thank you. I’m auditioning for the musical.”

Mark’s heart had been much stronger when it came to Donghyuck then, because it only fluttered a bit, a low hum in the pit of his chest. “I work on crew. I’m Mark.” 

“Donghyuck.” He said, and smiled, like something a millions of miles away. 

They’re in similar positions, but Mark’s in the room with him now. A front row seat, or a private show – so it’s the same, but everything is different. Donghyuck’s in his proximity, at least. 

Mark’s been tasked with organizing the cast party, so while he’d much rather sit and listen to his friend sing until he was somewhere in the stratosphere, he has  _ so much _ to do. 

It took a whole two days of Yerim begging for a bouncy house (in the middle of winter) for him to realize he should probably do his planning in private. Donghyuck has surprisingly little to say, so he hesitantly let him stick around. 

His mom’s taking care of a lot of things, because she might just be a saint, but she’s still having him make a list of things he needs her to do. So it’s not like the mental gymnastics are alleviated.

Add onto that, he got two more college letters. One acceptance (Loyola), one waitlist (University of Michigan, not because he really wants to go there, but because he wanted to know if he could get in.)

His ears are ringing with panic from thinking so hard when Donghyuck changes songs and he’s singing something soothing, like he knew Mark’s head was a warzone. It’s a Lee Hi song, something Hyuck listens to before he goes on stage, every opening night since he’s known him. Mark always wonders why: Has he forgotten he’s done this a billion times over?

_ It’s alright if you run out of breath, no one will blame you _ .

He closes his eyes, for just a moment, and Mark remembers he’s tired – like painstakingly exhausted, like his eyebags have passed the fuck out. It’s a side effect of tech week, it always is. They’re at the school, working, until 11 almost every night. (It’s the one thing Mark would change, if he could, though even that’s a lie. He loves when everyone gets delirious and everything is much funnier, when Donghyuck places his head in the crook of Mark’s neck and falls asleep, like magic.)

“Mark Lee.” 

His eyes snap open, because with his voice amplified by the microphone, Donghyuck’s voice commands attention even more than usual. The melody has stopped, not that Mark would’ve noticed. He’s heard the performance more times than he can count, it continues without any of his senses playing along. 

He hums, questioning.

“Just making sure you were still with us.” Donghyuck has backed away from the mic slightly so he’s not such a presence in the room, in Mark’s ears, anymore. Just Donghyuck. Which, admittedly, tends to be more overwhelming than anything.

“I got into Loyola,” He says, even though that means practically nothing to the other and he knows it. 

Still, Donghyuck perks up slightly, nodding to himself more than anything. There’s something undecipherable painting his features and Mark is getting tired of feeling like he’s in the dark when it comes to the other. “Proud of you.”

“I most likely won’t go there, though. I want to go to school in NYC.” He pauses, realizing he has yet to even tell his  _ mom _ this sentiment. “Probably.”

“I didn’t know that,” Donghyuck says, and the mysterious expression makes way for something cloudy. 

Mark says, “You’ll figure out a way to annoy me no matter where I am, right?”

The responding giggle is dull, but it’s enough to settle the scores. They both know what will happen when the show ends, when school ends, when Mark’s gone, that doesn’t mean they have to dwell. 

“Right,” Donghyuck finally responds, firm. “That  _ is _ my job after all.”

***

Opening night comes with a vengeance. And they’re ready.

Mark can’t recall how they got there – how everything seemed to fall into place. But after so many shows with tragic tech weeks under his belt, he’s just relieved it’s time to actually  _ enjoy _ putting on the show. 

Yerim gets nervous on opening night. Every time. She’s clinging to him like some kind of baby animal as Joohyun delivers the most soft spoken, inspirational speech ever to the entirety of the cast, crew, and pit. 

Donghyuck is on his other side, noticeably farther away than usual, which Mark  _ shouldn’t _ notice. He shouldn’t, but he does. He can’t even hear their director’s speech, doesn’t know why everyone is glassy-eyed and amped up when they disperse from the stage. He follows Donghyuck, instinctually. The younger boy notices, but doesn’t say anything, just steps into the scene shop. 

He has a suit and stage makeup on, so he should look mature but in reality, he looks even more like a little kid than usual. Something in Mark coos. It’s his stupid heart.

He goes to say something, anything, but Donghyuck beats him to it:

“When were you gonna tell me you like Yerim?”

_ Blink. Blink. _

Mark stares at him. He has half the mind to not crack up. 

“Dude. I don’t like Yerim.” 

Donghyuck looks at him, ruefully almost, his mouth twisting up in what looks like disgust. “You think I can’t tell when you like someone?” He asks, and for some reason, Mark wants to laugh. He continues, “You guys looked really cute all cuddled up. It really is the perfect arrangement, right?” 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Mark says, because he doesn’t. It’s  _ Yerim _ . There are pictures of them in bubble baths together when they were like a year old. Her mom still calls him  _ Markiepoo _ . 

Donghyuck isn’t making any sense. “You guys are really cute! I don’t know why you won’t just admit it.” 

The steam brewing in Mark bubbles over, just a bit, and he snips back, “Why would I want to start dating someone this close to graduation?” 

Donghyuck takes a lot of things seriously, but he doesn’t really let on. But because he knows him, Mark can see the telltale signs of it before the sentence even comes out. His face turns stormy, a Category 5. The reality of  _ why _ makes Mark’s stomach flop over like dead weight in his body. Regret boxes him in.

And then, Donghyuck is just looking at him, face blank. “Right.” The finality of it makes something in Mark’s stomach tug, and he wants to say something to get the light back in the younger’s eyes but a freshman appears in the doorway and is telling Mark that about 14 people are looking for him. 

So he leaves. 

The next time he sees Donghyuck, the boy is anything but blank-faced. He’s so expressive on stage, even if the sight of him leaves a bad taste in Mark’s mouth, he can’t help but smile through it. 

Everything is moving smoothly. Joohyun comes up behind him in the middle of the show from her stoop across the way from him and pats him on the shoulders, and it’s the most notable acknowledgement he’s ever gotten from her in four whole years. It fills him to the brim and over, and there are pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

_ Your last opening night _ , his mind reminds him. Donghyuck starts singing just as this sinks in and the sight of him, kinda washed out in the stage light but brilliantly leading the crowd through a song, makes another gear click into place. 

It’s not really a case of falling, but instead a case of  _ realizing _ , Mark notices. He had been told enough times that love is monumental, like a rush of blood to the head, that he can barely register that maybe he’s loved Donghyuck this whole time. It isn’t some big, life-altering moment. It’s better. 

“Oh,” He breathes into the headset.

A voice crackles back – Jeno’s. “What? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Everything’s… everything’s fine.” He breathes out a long breath that came from way deep down, body shaking. “I just realized I’m fucked.”

He waits to hear someone’s voice, Mina or Jeno or Suhyun’s, with a knowing grin in their tone, but nobody seems to want to break this silence he’s created. He worries about what that means, because he always worries. Do they understand just how much he feels what he’s feeling? Can they hear it?

Donghyuck’s voice rings through the last note like a bell, like a signal telling him to come back to earth, and the assistant stage managers are murmuring about the scene change. Everything goes as planned.

Mark may be knocked out of orbit, but everything else is still spinning.

***

Tradition stands that after every opening night, the entire company goes to Basil’s Pizza, just 10 minutes from school, to gorge themselves on breadsticks and be way too loud in public. Mark usually loves it, but he can’t really fully  _ get into _ enjoying it. 

Of all people, Seulgi notices. She plops down next to him, in a seat long-deserted by Jisung (who had no desire to spend anymore time with the stage managing team, understandably, and found his place among the other freshmen and sophomores). “You’re being weird.” 

He looks at her, but is basically looking through her. She could’ve been anyone, and he still would’ve probably let the word vomit fall out. “You were right. About Hyuck. Or about me  _ towards _ Hyuck. I don’t know… I don’t know about the other way around.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh but you can take a guess, can’t you?” 

But that’s not the point. It’s all far too uncertain for Mark, who has had quite enough of not knowing where his tunnel opened up. “I guess,” He says, and then squints. Really thinks about it.

He knows that Donghyuck likes boys, because Donghyuck has a crush on every person he meets for at least a half hour. But Mark isn’t like that, never has been. The last crush he had was on Seulgi, when he was seven and she was in middle school and he saw her for the first time in her front yard after she got her braces off. It settles in that the way he feels about Donghyuck is not that of a crush—not even close. 

So it’s not really about Donghyuck being able to have a crush on a boy. It’s  _ fathoming _ that Donghyuck, all soft edges and buoyancy, would have a crush on a boy who was Mark.

“I don’t w–I don’t wanna think about that.” 

Seulgi is still looking at him when his eyes find her again. There is something so comforting about her and it settles him down. At least a little bit. “It’s like I was just driving around, and then my favorite song came on. You know that feeling? Where you’re not expecting it, so you’re surprised? But it’s the perfect kind of surprise?”

She nods, pats his knee, and then finds Donghyuck across the room. Mark follows her eye line. “I’m sad it’s taken this long, but I’m happy you’ve arrived.” 

“Yeah.” Mark sighs, watching Donghyuck hoist Chaeyoung in the air, celebrating some kind of win in whatever game they were playing. “Me too.”

***

Donghyuck and Yerim are a couple in the show. Like, they kiss and everything. Mark bristles from his numb toes in his dress shoes to the ends of his hair, every time they’re on stage together. It’s the strangest feeling in the entire universe.

The only saving grace is sophomore Chenle as Nicely Nicely Johnson, singing  _ Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat _ . Mark doesn’t know why it makes him so unbelievably happy every time. Maybe it’s the whole  _ next generation _ thing. Chenle is to Donghyuck what Donghyuck was to Ten. A successor. But the crowd electrifies after that, and then Mark can’t sit still until the curtains close.

Mark knows he has to make a break for home ASAP to help his mom finish setting up for the cast party, but he can’t help but fidget in the hallway for a bit while everyone scrambles to get out of costume. Donghyuck appears, looking shiny and new, in a soft grey sweatshirt, and Mark’s heart is a monster rattling the bars of its cage, thrashing and trying to escape its confines. 

“Hyuck!” He says, catching the other boy’s attention. 

It’s the first time the younger has looked at him since before opening night. Since before Mark realized. The air is thin suddenly, so he has to look away. He asks, “Want a ride?”

And he’s expecting a  _ no _ , because of the weirdness, because of everything, but Donghyuck just shrugs, looks around and says “sure”. Just like that.

And in the blink of an eye, they’re in Mark’s car. Donghyuck is doing everything in his power to not look at him, and he’s doing a pretty good job.

Halfway to his house, Mark speaks up, against his own better judgment, “Hey.” He waits for a jostle from the passenger seat before continuing, “Sorry I’ve been acting like a dick lately.” 

“You… you haven’t been acting like a dick,” Donghyuck says, eyes trained in his lap where his hands sit, perfectly folded over one another. 

Mark watches him in silence at a stop sign, for so long that Donghyuck looks up and out at the traffic, and then the car jolts forward with Mark’s foot on the gas. It feels so strange, to be back at the beginning. He has known how to deal with being Donghyuck’s friend, but none of that equips him for being in love with Donghyuck and  _ knowing it _ . 

“Penny for your thoughts?” And then Donghyuck is holding up a penny, probably from Mark’s cup holder. 

Mark takes it from him. “I don’t like the idea of you being super attached to me before I go to school,” He says, and it’s not a lie, not completely. 

He doesn’t want to leave things the way they are, ambiguous and undefined. He doesn’t want to leave Donghyuck thinking Mark didn’t love him back, or something tragic—Shakespearean—like that.

Donghyuck starts a joke about how  _ excited _ he is for Mark to leave them all behind, but Mark nips it in the bud. He knows the other well enough to know what deflection looks like. 

They pull into Mark’s garage. There are already a few cars, belonging to cast members, parked along the street. Everything in his car feels undisturbed, and Mark knows the spell will be broken when they get out and join the fringes. So he sits. And because of whatever is unspoken between them, so does Donghyuck. 

“I’m just super stressed about schools… and the future in general, I guess.” Mark looks over at Donghyuck, and honey is swimming in the younger’s eyes and his heart feels like it’s going to explode. (He was never this dramatic before. It is the most obnoxious side effect of being in love with Donghyuck.)

“You know you’ll be the magnificent Mark Lee wherever you go,” Donghyuck says, and something in Mark’s mind settles. “Just go where intuition takes you. Whether it’s New York or Alaska. Wherever it is that you feel you should be.”

“I feel like I should be here.” His voice sounds strained and foreign to his own ears, no wonder Donghyuck looks over at him, eyes lit up in bewildered amusement. 

“In your car? In your garage? In the cold?”

_ With you _ , he screams, silently. Eternally. 

“Let’s go inside.” And then it’s over, and if Mark’s heart wasn’t clattering around like it’s been set loose, it could’ve been like nothing ever happened.

***

The cast parties devolve so quickly. There are freshman asleep on Mark’s couch and a group of upperclassmen are spinning a bottle around the table but instead of the people it lands on having to kiss, they’re standing up and physically fighting each other.

Mark watches from the sidelines as Yerim and Lucas duke it out. Lucas loses, because even if he has a foot on her, she’s the scariest person in the room. In any room. Donghyuck is completely taken out by the entire exchange, his body flung across Jaemin like he’s been knocked over by the ridiculous imagery. 

He’s gonna miss this, and he was waiting for the moment when he would realize exactly that. The ache in his heart comes as Chenle tosses himself at Renjun and then goes limp, and the entire rest of the circle laughs and tries not to get hit by the handful of a boy. 

“Markiepoo, you wanna get in on this?” Yerim calls from where she’s seated. And he shakes his head, which of course she ignores. “Mark’s been working out recently so he can reach full Troy Bolton status. I don’t think any of you fools wanna take him.” 

“Then let’s play actual spin the bottle!” Jeno chimes in, because of course that motherfucker would. He has the nerve to shoot a crescent eye glance at Donghyuck as he does, too. 

“Ooooh, or seven minutes in heaven!” The voice in his head groans  _ You too, Chaeyoung? _ but at least her intentions are pure. He watches as she glances at Saeron. There is something so easy about reading all of  _ them _ , so why can’t he figure out  _ Hyuck _ ? 

“Come on, Markie, you’ll go first.” Yerim coos, and he can’t really stop himself after that, settling next to her on the floor.  _ In _ the circle. Staring across at Donghyuck.  _ Ugh _ . 

She hands him the bottle and he spins it, unceremonious, knowing not to get his hopes up. He sees Jaemin, on Donghyuck’s right, scooching where he sits. 

And then the bottle settles. Between them. Right smack between Jaemin and Donghyuck. Mark glances up at the both of them, and Jaemin avoids eye contact with everyone so really, he has no other choice. “Okay!” Mark huffs, standing up and swiping clammy hands along his pants. “Come on.” 

The whole group looks at him in awe, but none of them are more in shock than Donghyuck, who is ever so slowly easing into a standing position. It makes everything so much worse that he seems to be so caught off guard, like this was an unwelcome surprise. (Mark feels guilty for praising his own luck, thinking about how the other must feel. Uncharted territory.)

They make it into the closet in Mark’s basement and Yerim sets a timer and locks them in. It’s not really claustrophobic, but Mark slides to the ground for comfort anyway. Donghyuck follows him, sitting in front of him. 

“Stupid game putting me back in the closet and shit…” Donghyuck murmurs, and Mark can’t help but burst into giggles. Everything is so heavy around them now. Mark wishes he could get out of the atmosphere.

They sit and talk about the notches on the inside of the closet door that indicate Mark’s growth. Donghyuck stares wistfully at where it ends, at a marking that says  _ Mark, age 15 _ . When they met. He could be thinking about anything. Mark hates it.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss during 7 minutes in heaven?” 

If Mark could’ve stumbled back at the question, he would have. But he’s sinking into the floor at such a rapid rate that he can’t even think to react. In any other way besides breathe out a “yeah, I guess so”. 

Donghyuck looks from the notch on the door at Mark, and it sears him, inside out. “So…” 

The implications hang heavy in the air. And Mark lets them dangle for a while before he can look back at the younger boy. “You… you want to?” Mark asks. Donghyuck has the nerve to look at him, dumbfounded, like he’s stupid for even asking. 

He’s about to work up the nerve when Yerim starts knocking on the door, loudly, announcing that their time’s up. He wants to stick his head out, say  _ 7 more, _ and then kiss Donghyuck silly until they have to be pulled apart with a crowbar, but instead he lets them open the door and lets Donghyuck leave. 

He gets there eventually, though. When everyone’s making plans to leave, after several more rounds and the disaster of putting Lucas and Suhyun in the closet together, Mark grabs Donghyuck to pull him onto the couch. 

“You should sleep over.” Donghyuck looks at him like he has something in his teeth.

Then nods. Says  _ okay, I’ll tell my mom _ . 

And that’s how they end up alone again, in a much bigger room, but with all the space around them still filled to the brim. It kinda hurts Mark’s soul that they’re being forced to clear at least some of the mess before they go to bed (mom’s orders), but he isn’t going to complain. Because they’re alone. And Donghyuck’s stage makeup is almost completely smeared off except for the eyeliner, which honestly, is doing things to the knot in the pit of Mark’s stomach. 

“This is weird.” Donghyuck finally says, from where he’s perched on Mark’s bed, in Mark’s pajamas, staring right at Mark like he doesn’t already know this. 

“Okay…” Mark returns his toothbrush once he’s done with it and shuts the bathroom light off, and then the ceiling light. It’s dark until he flips on his bedside lamp and settles next to Donghyuck. “How do you suggest we un-weird it?” 

Donghyuck looks at him like he’s clueless, for the umpteenth time since they’d become friends. It was a signature. It was a  _ given _ . 

“You know.” 

Mark can feel his heart in his ears. He’s probably painted a full wash of cherry red. And there’s a beat where he glances down at Donghyuck’s lips, and the other boy notices and his eyes find Mark’s mouth. 

And then the moment where their mouths find each other. 

Mark can barely think to do anything else but just  _ sink _ , adjusting so their noses aren’t bumping, shifting around so he can rest a hand on Donghyuck’s waist and clutch the fabric of his own shirt there. He doesn’t realize he’s not the only one completely engulfed until Donghyuck shivers and presses closer, practically placing himself in Mark’s lap. 

There is literally not a single song that sounds this good. Mark’s starting to believe he’s been lied to about things being better than kissing,  _ anything _ being better than  _ this _ . 

Donghyuck is the first to pull away, but Mark doesn’t miss a beat, wrapping a hand around the younger boy’s neck to pull him back down. Donghyuck tastes like his toothpaste and caramel popcorn. Something unearthly shoots through him at the whine that sounds out of Donghyuck’s throat as they move together. 

“Come on, let me breathe,” Donghyuck finally protests, moving reluctantly from Mark’s lap and back against the pillows, and then under the covers. 

Mark watches all the while, stunned and amazed, absolutely and  _ unbelievably _ full of love in a way that’s almost stupid. 

It takes a while and Donghyuck saying  _ come cuddle, stupid _ for Mark to actually move to lay down against the pillows. They wrap around each other like if they don’t, they’ll slowly move apart like they’re at sea. 

Mark kisses the top of Donghyuck’s head after he turns off the lamp.

They drift, but not apart.

***

Somehow, everyone already knows by the time they make it to the Sunday call-time. Mark is aghast, and Donghyuck says  _ I only told Jeno, I swear! _

Throughout the whole day, he’s filled to the brim with a new kind of want. The kind of want that comes when you know you can have something, like being excited about a snack you know you have at home. But so much better. 

Mark gives up on seeing Donghyuck before the show once it’s 10 minutes until places. 

Someone calls 5 minutes to places and light footsteps tread up behind him, and two scrawny arms wrap around Mark’s torso. He’s surprised only for a moment, and then he turns and pulls Donghyuck into him. There are audience members sitting only a few feet away, but it’s so dark that it doesn’t matter. Their lips meet like the first time all over again. 

Mark’s favorite thing is Donghyuck’s tiny noises, so he uses his hands and his tongue to elicit them as much as possible. He finds a spot at Donghyuck’s nape that makes the other boy shiver, so he keeps a hand there, massaging gently. 

Then, Mark moves away to press a kiss to Donghyuck’s jaw, then his pulse point, and further down his neck and the whines come much easier.  _ Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? _

“Mark –” Donghyuck interrupts himself with a strangled noise, half laugh half groan. “God, you have to stop. I’m gonna pass out.”

It’s too loud in the quiet of the auditorium. 

Mark stills. The auditorium is quiet. He looks up to find the opening scene, missing its main actor. And though it’s a disaster that Donghyuck missed his  _ first cue of the night _ , he can’t help it – he starts laughing. Even as the other boy flees away, he’s still laughing. He can hear Mina in the booth above him, snickering too. He doesn’t even wanna put on the headset to find out what’s going on in there. 

He’s too full. To the brim. But the fullness does not mean things are heavy, because he feels lightweight for the first time in a while.

**Author's Note:**

> yes donghyuck played the character that frank sinatra played in Guys and Dolls (1955) and no i dont regret that
> 
> my twitter is @jiggyallnight :~)


End file.
